


the choiceless hope in grief

by stelleappese



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV)
Genre: Choking, Dry Humping, Light Masochism, M/M, Mutual Pining, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, and, i guess?, very brief mentions of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: "You don’t know me anymore.”Ciro’s back hits the wall, and Genny just keeps coming. He’s leaning over him, their noses almost touching, when he says, low, threatening: “But I knowyou.”Set at some point between 02x9 and 02x11.
Relationships: Ciro Di Marzio/Gennaro "Genny" Savastano
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	the choiceless hope in grief

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what this is. I may just as well have called it "everybody's unsatisfied and everything hurts" lol

Human minds work in such a strange way, Genny thinks, when he walks into his hotel room and finds Ciro waiting for him, hands in his pockets, looking straight at him.

Sometimes, Genny has to remind himself what Ciro did to him, to his mother. He has to remind himself of all the pain he caused him, because the very first thing he feels, the very first feeling that floods his chest every single time he sees him, is unadulterated, aching affection.

There was a time Genny would have done anything to make Ciro proud. He spent so long looking at Ciro and seeing an unreadable, all-knowing god. Now he looks at him, at his weary eyes, at his tense posture, and he can see right through him.

“I heard you the first time you asked.” Genny says, throwing his keys on the bedside table, taking off his jacket.   
“Yes. And you did nothing about it.” Ciro snaps back.

Nervous, Genny thinks. Scared. He can already see the vultures flying in circles above him, can hear the thumping of booted feet behind him, the barking of dogs; he’s waiting for a bullet to the back of his head. 

Genny wants to ask Ciro what it feels like. All the bodies he left in his wake, all the people he betrayed, all the trust and promises he broke. Was all of that blood worth it to get where he is? Cornered, virtually friendless, with everything he values slipping right through his fingers?    
He wants to hiss it at him through his teeth, wants to see him lose his patience. But he doesn’t.

“Do you think your father will stop, after he’s done with me?” Ciro asks, stepping closer. “Do you think you can trust him?”   
“I don’t trust anybody, Cirù.” Genny says. “You taught me that.”   
“What are you planning to do, then? Keep your head down and let your father step over you, just to keep yourself safe?”    
“I have my own business to take care of. My father can keep Secondigliano, and he can keep the mausoleum he buried himself in.”   
“I know you,” Ciro says, but Genny cuts him off.   
“Once, maybe.” he says, his voice dangerously approaching a growl. “The boy you knew is long gone.”   
“Then prove it.” Ciro hisses.

He bursts into laughter, Genny, and he can see how taken aback Ciro is.

“Cirù, maybe it works with other people,” he says, and he’s the one getting closer, now, as Ciro steps back. “Maybe it worked on me, too, when I was a kid. You think you have all the right words, you think you can push and push until I’m where you want me. But you don’t know me anymore, Cirù. You don’t know me anymore.”

Ciro’s back hits the wall, and Genny just keeps coming. He’s leaning over him, their noses almost touching, when he says, low, threatening: “But I know _you_.”

Ciro swallows. The look on his face, eyebrows drawn, eyes wide, is almost exactly the same he had back in his hotel room in Turin when Genny had forced him to his knees and pointed a gun at his head. 

“Do you want to know something about me, Cirù?” Genny asks. Ciro’s mouth stays stubbornly closed, but the confused look in his eyes is enough to spur Genny on. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you on your knees,” he murmurs. “And I liked you even more like this,” he continues, grabbing Ciro’s face with a hand, covering his mouth. He feels, more than he hears, a little whimper against his palm as he presses Ciro’s head back against the wall. “With your fucking lying mouth shut.”

He doesn’t move, Ciro. He looks at Genny with those bright eyes of his, and doesn’t give any sign of wanting to lash back. Genny’s hand shifts just a little bit; it molds to Ciro’s jaw, his thumb brushing against his lower lip.

“I keep thinking about it,” Genny says, eyes on Ciro’s lips, “And of other ways I could have shut your mouth.”

That’s when Ciro kisses him, hard and almost painful, his fingers digging into the back of Genny’s head. Genny lets him, just for a moment, and then bites down on Ciro’s lower lip hard enough he tastes blood; he presses his tongue back into Ciro’s mouth before he’s even had time to yelp.

Ciro’s hand slithers down to give Genny’s cock a little squeeze through his jeans, and the moment he does that, Genny breaks the kiss. He turns Ciro around, pushes him against the wall, grinds against him, wraps a hand around Ciro’s neck to pull him back just so, to keep him where he wants him as he tries to unbuckle his belt with a single hand.

And instead of struggling, instead of cursing at him, Ciro leans forward as best as he can and pushes his ass back against Genny’s crotch. Genny instinctively pulls Ciro’s back towards him, his grip on Ciro’s throat tightening enough to make him whimper. He’s managed to unbuckle and unzip his jeans, and he’s about to start trying to do the same with Ciro when Ciro reaches up and touches Genny’s hand.

And Genny’s head, again, does something strange.

The one and only time they kissed before, Genny was fifteen and completely shitfaced. It was during that nebulous, undefined span of time between New Year’s Eve and the first day of January. Genny’s mother hadn’t wanted him to go, but his father had said he was old enough to spend the night out, as long as Ciro kept an eye on him.

He’d tried so hard to act older than he was, Genny. Joked around with Ciro’s friends, exaggerated his sexual accomplishments, accepted every drop of alcohol he was offered, while Ciro watched with an enigmatic smirk on his face.

Genny doesn’t remember where exactly they were. He remembers cars -a parking lot, maybe?- and he remembers the roaring of fireworks. Even back then, he’d towered over Ciro. He’d grabbed Ciro’s face between his hands with an absolute lack of finesse, and had kissed him the same urgent, dreamy way he’d kissed his first little girlfriends. 

Ciro hadn’t kissed him back. He hadn’t pushed him off, either. He’d reached up and touched Genny’s hand -how _cold_ his fingers had been, _that_ Genny remembers,- and broken the kiss with shocking softness, and had lightly scolded Genny -in a whisper, right against his lips- for having had so much to drink.

They had pretended nothing happened, the next day. Genny had tried, and almost succeeded, to persuade himself Ciro had been just as drunk as he, that maybe he didn’t remember what had happened at all. But Ciro knew. And he never forgot. And when the time came for him to take advantage of Genny’s puppy love, of his stupid, unwavering devotion, Ciro didn’t think twice about it.

And yet.

And yet, when Ciro’s fingers touch Genny’s hand, and they’re as cold as they were back then, that same warmth, that same sheer, piercing affection swells in Genny’s ribcage, presses to the back of his throat, and prickles at the corners of his eyes.

He lets go of Ciro, takes a few steps back. He doesn’t look at Ciro as he zips up his jeans.

“What is it?” Ciro asks, and he looks so utterly confused.   
“I can’t do it.”   
“Why?”   
“Because I want to hurt you,” Genny says, his words slipping between clenched teeth, as if he were desperately trying to keep them in. “And I don’t _want_ that.”

_I can’t go back from that_ , he thinks.

There’s a pause; a silence that seems, to Genny, to last forever. Then Ciro walks up to him.    
His knuckles brush against Genny’s wrist; he tilts his head back, his eyes looking for Genny’s before he says: “I want you to hurt me.”

The words send shivers down Genny’s spine; they make his stomach twitch with desperate, piercing _need_. When Ciro grabs Genny’s hand and leads it up against his throat again, Genny lets him. He can feel Ciro’s pulse throb against his fingertips. It would be so easy to tighten his grip and drag Ciro to the bed, keep him still as he tears his clothes off, fuck him hard enough to make him scream. It would be so easy.

Genny lets go of him, and for a fraction of a second Ciro’s the one looking betrayed, humiliated. 

“It’s late,” Genny says, his voice flat. “You should go.”

Ciro looks at him for a long moment, his jaw set. The smallest spark of something that could either be shame or resentment is quickly erased from his face and replaced with a blank look. He nods, maybe more to himself than to Genny.

“It is late.” he says.

There’s a moment that linger with Genny even after Ciro has gone away. A quick, dejected look that Ciro shoots at him from behind his eyelashes before turning around and walking out of the room without a word. His head bowed, those cat-like eyes of his looking up at Genny.

_I have a family, now_ , Genny thinks. 

Or he will. Soon enough. He needs to do what’s best for them. Ciro is spiraling downward, fast; he’s losing followers, losing height. If Genny lets him, he will drag him back into his plotting and scheming. If Genny lets him, he won’t think twice about sacrificing him to save his own skin. He’s done it before, hasn’t he?

Still. It takes every inch of Genny’s considerable, hard-earned self-control to stop him from running after Ciro, grabbing him right there in the corridor, wrapping himself up around him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and forget about the rest of the world.

Right before Ciro walked out, Genny looked at him and didn’t see the man who killed Genny’s mother and shot him in the face; he didn’t see the cool, dangerous mentor Genny had been running after his whole life. 

He saw a lost, lonely man. 

And even though he’s got the scars to prove how much Ciro hurt him, the entirety of Genny’s being desperately screeched at him to _do something_ , to stop him from leaving.


End file.
